


Mission: Mistletoe

by notboldly



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Mistletoe, Romance, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-05 11:58:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notboldly/pseuds/notboldly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite his best attempts to avoid it, Spock keeps getting caught under the mistletoe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mission: Mistletoe

In every way that counted, Spock had always been a scientist. While it might have surprised species who were not Vulcan and assumed that every child born on the desert planet had a natural affinity for science and mathematics, the truth was that children were as varied in their interests as anywhere else; in this respect, Spock was gifted. Science came as naturally to him as swimming to an aquatic mammal, and he enjoyed it with a fervor that was Vulcan in its intensity but human in its expression. Each experiment—no matter how insignificant it seemed to others—stayed in his thoughts long after it was completed, as the knowledge was assimilated, understood, and stored for all the years to come.

Naturally, Spock used his scientific abilities to aid him outside of the classroom and eventually outside of the laboratory. As an outsider, he had an inherent disadvantage when interacting with others, and the more he studied customs and cultures, the more he could blend in, so to speak. Christmas was no different, and Spock took to studying it all with a fervor that lasted until just six short days before the holiday season began. Still, on the outside, he continued to show interest in the holiday as a scientific experiment. On the outside.

This was not why Spock was currently sitting in a rec room on B deck, swirling a glass of alcoholic punch and watching as a great many crewman enjoyed their Christmas party. Despite the logic of it, this was not why Spock had volunteered to chaperone one of the remaining Christmas parties on-board the _Enterprise_ , nor was it the reason why he sat in the far corner, watching laughter and dancing while he drank a beverage not designed for Vulcan consumption. It was not the reason, but if asked, Spock would say it was.

His mother had enjoyed Christmas, in her way; less openly than his shipmates, perhaps, but she had felt obvious joy all the same. The presence of such happiness had touched him although he did not show it, and even now, months after her death, it made him crave—very illogically—the joy of the season. Spock had thought, under the circumstances, that he would be celebrating Christmas alongside Nyota, and that he would get to see her personal enjoyment of the season. He had thought, after their many months together, that they would share this first of many holidays, and that they would become close as couples were meant to be, and as he learned all that Christmas was.

Spock had thought incorrectly on many counts. Perhaps this was why he remained there, watching as others felt love and friendship in addition to the traditional spirit of Christmas. To absorb, just a little bit, what he was not allowed to have.

_I’m sorry, Spock, but I just don’t think this can work…_

Spock swirled his drink again, and this time a drop of the foggy golden liquid slipped over the side to land on the table in front of him. He wiped the drop away almost aimlessly, feeling the glide of it under his fingertips, and when he looked up again, it was to a pair of amused blue eyes staring at him.

Spock straightened, unable to completely dismiss the difference in rank between them although the Captain had been urging him to do just that for several weeks.

“Captain.”

The Captain just shook his head and pulled a nearby stool to his table.

“At ease, Mister Spock. Forgive me, but I didn’t think you were the partying type.”

Spock swallowed reflexively, expecting jeering or perhaps the silent condemnation that usually followed such a statement. It didn’t come, and Spock answered honestly while internally admonishing himself. Except for the calculated actions of eleven months prior, the Captain had never been anything but decent if not polite to him.

“Forgiveness is unnecessary, as I am not. I was elected to monitor this…event.”

Kirk snorted at what Spock was certain was poorly disguised distaste in his voice, shaking his head while swirling his own glass of something that was a startling pink hue.

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. Well…you’re going above and beyond, Mister Spock, for keeping us out of trouble on the holidays.”

“As you say, Captain.”

Spock rather thought he was actually ruining the otherwise cheerful atmosphere with his quietly morose presence, but he did not say that. Rather, he fell silent, choosing instead to finish his drink in a single swallow.

When he looked at the Captain again, Kirk appeared somewhere between amused and sorrowful, and Spock could not comprehend the dichotomy. Thankfully the expression disappeared quickly, and Kirk held out his hand.

“What are you drinking, Mister Spock? I’ll get you another.”

Spock handed him the glass, careful to avoid touching the skin of Kirk’s fingers. It would have been unethical to do otherwise, even if Spock sometimes wanted to know the mind of his young captain and he doubted any human—save Nyota—would have understood the significance of such an action.

“I believe it is called ‘whiskey milk punch.’”

Kirk looked at him with an almost startled expression before grinning and standing.

“Alcohol? I thought it didn’t affect Vulcans.”

Perhaps it was the cheerful and almost teasing way the Captain said it, but Spock found himself offering an explanation Kirk had not asked for.

“It does not. I merely find the burning sensation…pleasant.”

Kirk nodded before moving away, going to the long center table that contained all the ingredients for the beverage and Spock was intrigued when he watched the Captain mix the drink himself with motions that spoke of familiarity with the task. When Kirk came back to their table and handed him the glass again, Spock politely sipped, and he was surprised to find that the drink had a much higher content of alcohol than his first.

Kirk winked at him when Spock gave him a dubious look, but then he quickly sobered, blue eyes darting down to look at his own drink as he stood casually at the end of the table. Too casually.

“You heard about Uhura going out with Scotty, huh?”

Spock felt a twinge of pain that he quickly suppressed, but years of being the outsider made him unable to ignore this most recent event completely.

_I’m sorry, Spock, but I just don’t think this can work…_

“No. I had not.”

Kirk, to be fair, looked instantly apologetic.

“Damn it. I’m sorry, Spock—I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

No one had ever offered him condolences on the subject; no one had believed he would welcome them. Spock was oddly touched at the fact that Kirk suspected he would. Even though Vulcan dignity demanded that he correct the assumption of emotionalism, he didn’t.

“It was human of you.”

Kirk nodded and fell silent; it was not meant as an insult and Spock was grateful that he did not interpret it that way. Still, the easy camaraderie Kirk had projected was now gone, swallowed by remorse and hesitation.

Spock, perhaps for the first time in his adult life, found himself volunteering personal information, and he wondered briefly what it was about Kirk that made him say things he did not intend.

“We did not understand each other.”

Kirk looked at him with a faint smile, and he took a large swallow of his drink.

“Well, to be fair, you’re kind of a difficult guy to get.”

“I said we did not understand each other, Captain.” Kirk looked at him, and Spock forced his lips to curve upward just slightly and his voice to come out sounding amused instead of bland.

“I did not understand her either.”

Kirk let out a hoot of surprised laughter, and then he quickly clinked their glasses together, the soft chime sending a gentle vibration up Spock’s palm.

“There’s nothing unusual about that, trust me.”

Spock didn’t know how he was supposed to reply to that—“I will always trust you, Captain”—but thankfully, a loud cheer and several whistles distracted Kirk at that moment. Out of mild curiosity, Spock glanced to where the small crowd had begun to clap, taking note of the fact that two crewmembers—Lieutenant Barrows and Ensign Davidson—were sharing a chaste kiss in the center of the swarm of their colleagues.

Kirk had a faint smile on his face, and when he turned, it became a wide grin.

Spock raised an eyebrow.

“An odd choice of location for a romantic interlude.”

Kirk gave him a look that said he was one to talk, and then he shrugged.

“Caught under the mistletoe—there’s no helping it.”

Spock’s other eyebrow rose up to meet the first.

“Mistletoe, Captain?”

Kirk nodded, and when Spock continued to look at him expectantly, understanding dawned on his face.

“You don’t know what mistletoe is?”

“I do not.”

This was not entirely correct—Spock was aware of the plant’s name and he now noticed it hanging in various locations about the rec room, but he was unaware of the connotations Kirk seemed to believe the plant had.

“Uhura never explained it to you?”

This time the tinge of pain was smaller, lessened by the presence of curiosity.

“We were not courting over the course of the holidays. The topic never came up.”

“Well…alright.”

There was a pause, and Kirk looked thoughtful for a moment before he seemed to realize that Spock still required an explanation, and then he smiled slightly, the expression fond.

“If you meet someone under the mistletoe, you’re supposed to share a kiss in order to have good luck for the next year. The point is to catch someone you like, of course, but accidents happen.”

Spock did not say it was an illogical practice; the expression on Kirk’s face said he knew that already, and Spock dearly wanted to avoid the subject of kissing for reasons he did not care to analyze. Instead, Spock dismissed the subject entirely and asked the question he should have asked to begin with.

“Do you have a purpose for being present at the Christmas party for the Navigation division, Captain?”

It was most odd; the Captain had the evening off, but Spock had had the opportunity to observe him quite closely for several months, and Kirk simply did not enjoy parties where he was expected to stay sober and wear a Captain’s façade constantly.

Kirk simply shrugged again.

“I was looking for you, actually. I know we don’t get along, really, and that we haven’t known each other for very long either, but I thought you might be a bit lost if you had to figure out Terran celebrations on your own.”

Spock stared, and he was aware his expression was startled. Kirk just stared down at his drink as he continued to speak softly.

“I know how it feels to be alone on the holidays. I just wanted you to know…” Kirk trailed off and Spock waited, knowing his next words would be important. He saw inspiration hit the same instant Kirk looked up at him.

“…I understand you, Spock.”

“Indeed?”

Kirk nodded quickly, cheerfully.

“Yep. That’s how I know you really shouldn’t be drinking right now; you’re getting all the bad effects with none of the fun.”

“That is simply biology.”

“Maybe. Wanna play chess?”

It was the same invitation Kirk had extended him for the past four months, and the same invitation that Spock had declined every time. The excuse he had given each time was that he had work to do; Spock himself acknowledged that it was only half-true, but the other half was something he was unwilling to share.

Kirk’s voice was soft, and his words attempted to coax Spock into trying something new, as they always did.

“Come on; I’ll let you win.”

Spock looked at him blankly.

“No, you will not.”

“See? You understand me, too.”

Kirk’s grin was sharp and wide, his stance suddenly firm, and Spock knew that he was only putting off the inevitable. So, with one last glance at the relatively tame party, Spock stood and followed a bouncing and cheerful Kirk out of the rec room.

********

While Spock would not say he slept fitfully that night, he was aware upon waking that he was not as well-rested as he should have been after his customary four hours of sleep. Had she been alive, his mother would have likely attributed the occurrence to “stress” or “unhappiness,” and she would have given him a recommendation that a Vulcan would not accept, but that he would have, because he loved her. This was, of course, all hypothetical; she wasn’t alive any longer to offer comments on his life, and there was only a small probability that he would have informed her of his sleeping patterns had she been, given that he had not spoken to her for several years prior to her death. Illogically, it pained him still to know that this conversation—however unlikely it would have been in reality—could never occur, and, had it been just three weeks prior, he would have expressed this small un-Vulcan aspect of himself to Nyota.

It pained him even more to realize that he had no one to share this with now and to know that, for some reason he could not understand, he most likely never would. Then he realized, with no small amount of shame, that the cause his mother would have given was most likely true; he was unhappy.

And because he was Vulcan, he did not know how to fix this.

Shaking his head at the illogic of it, Spock pulled himself from his thoughts and continued his morning routine.  As he evaluated and revised his mental schedule, he carefully unfolded each perfectly pressed article of clothing and dressed, afterwards taking a moment to straighten the few items in his cabin that had been misaligned slightly due to the fluctuations of the new artificial gravity system. Then, certain Kirk would not be needing their shared bathroom for twenty-three minutes, he slipped quietly into the small room and performed his necessary hygiene tasks before stepping out just as quietly when he heard the familiar chime of a Starfleet-issued alarm from the cabin next door. For the first time in his memory, however, he hesitated for just a moment at the outside of the facilities, uncertain.

He had never thanked Kirk for the chess invite of the night before, or for any of the three games that resulted. Although a normal Vulcan might have considered it illogical, Spock had been raised with a close knowledge of human quirks, and as such he was aware that it was…polite.

However—and here he admonished himself lightly for forgetting—a restroom was hardly the place for such niceties, and he continued on his way.

He waited just long enough for the telltale sound of the sonics being initiated before he left his quarters, knowing that the Captain would be on the bridge and expecting a full report in seventeen minutes.

********

Spock had never wanted to command a ship, not really; he believed this was a large contributing factor to the fact that he did not resent Kirk’s command in any way, and the fact that it was not a hardship to relinquish the center seat when Kirk stepped on the bridge. Over the past few months, it had even become something of a relief; Kirk, after all, was a capable if impulsive captain, and Spock was content to be his second, to the extent that he even allowed the unprofessional comments that were occasionally shared between them.

It was better, in Spock’s perspective, than the awkward silence that would have occured otherwise, especially now that he and Nyota were no longer as close as they once were. He still felt that way, even if the direction of the Captain’s comments tended to take an…odd turn on occasion.

“Mister Spock!” Kirk sat heavily in his chair, and as he always did, he stroked the armrests with affection before continuing, greeting Spock as he had every other member of the bridge crew. “Did you do any research on mistletoe after you left last night?”

There was an uncomfortable silence on the bridge, broken only by a soft cough, and Spock realized the possible implications of such a statement. There was no way to circumvent it that he saw, and he acknowledged that there would be rumors abounding very soon.

“No, Captain. I was…occupied with other matters.” Spock realized his reply had most likely made the situation worse, and he saw Kirk smile to himself as he accepted an offered cup from his yeoman, clearly realizing it as well.

Kirk took a sip of coffee before looking back up and continuing the conversation, his posture loose and relaxed.

“That’s a shame. It’s really not a bad tradition, but I imagine it must seem weird to you. Sorry I didn’t explain further.”

Spock inclined his head.

“Apologies are unnecessary, Captain. Although it is indeed ‘weird’ by Vulcan standards, it is clearly a harmless custom.” He paused, and then he turned back to his station, using the excuse of work to look away from the dark blue eyes that stared at him with such amusement.

“Also, Captain, thank you for your invite last night.”

When Spock turned back around in the silence, he could only describe Kirk as looking…pleased. Spock felt the barest twinge above his heart at the knowledge that Kirk liked him well-enough to find such interactions with him pleasing.

“You’re welcome, Mister Spock. You had fun?”

On another day, Spock might have corrected the assumption. On another day, he might also have thanked Kirk in private, or ended the conversation with a simple response immediately after it had begun. On this day, however, Spock found the interaction rewarding in some small way, and he allowed just the barest hint of a smile to cross his lips before he replied.

“Indeed.”

Kirk’s eyes widened, and Spock had just a moment to consider the contemplative expression on his face before the _Enterprise_ was hailed.

********

The Christmas party that evening was much the same as the gathering the night before, with one notable exception: it was for the Science division, and Spock was in attendance as a guest rather than a chaperone. Of course, there were few differences otherwise; Spock still remained in the corner and nursed his drink while he watched everyone enjoy themselves excessively, but unlike the party for the Navigation division, he actually found himself conversing with others. He was a scientist, after all; Vulcan or not, he and his colleagues had much in common when it came to things they found interesting, and although he would not call them his friends, they were certainly welcome conversational partners when they approached him. This facet of the party almost made the evening tolerable, and it accomplished one other very important thing: it kept his mind off of the reason he was still nursing an alcoholic beverage even though, as Captain Kirk had pointed out so helpfully before, it did nothing to intoxicate him.

Spock was on his third when he realized, quite suddenly, that Kirk was absent from this party. Given his surprise at seeing him the evening before, the thought should not have had the power to disappoint him. Still, Spock acknowledged that this was nevertheless the case, and as he stood to retrieve another drink, he absently scanned the room for a familiar golden shirt. Seeing none, he turned back to the makeshift bar, mixing the same drink as before.

“Ah, Commander Spock?”

Spock turned upon hearing the soft voice, expecting one of the many scientists he worked with closely. To his surprise, he saw Ensign Bates looking studiously at the floor; her cheeks were pink, and she was absently twining the bottom of her uniform around her finger. He found this odd, as his limited exposure to the ensign had shown her to be a capable scientist, open and confident. Her actions now, however, spoke of nerves, and he did not understand it. Curious, Spock waited expectantly for her to finish.

When she continued to remain silent, he raised a single eyebrow.

“Is there a problem, Ensign?”

“No, Commander. But, ah…” She trailed off and pointed above his head, and he looked up.

Mistletoe; it was interesting that he had not seen it. A quick glance showed that it was indeed present throughout the room in four discreet bunches as opposed to the scattering presence the night before, but he had not expected it here. What’s more, he had not expected that he would be involved in such activities, and he would have excused himself except his words of that morning came rushing back to him. He could see no logical way to avoid it, not when he had professed curiosity before.

Spock set his drink down before he glanced back at the ensign, her face now a deep cherry red, and he waited for the “harmless” gesture to be over with. The ensign, however, glanced at him quickly before she began to stammer, and she twisted the cloth of her dress even more furiously, not moving even an inch closer to him. Spock continued to wait in silence.

A loud, boisterous laugh came from somewhere beside them; Spock would have ignored it had it not been accompanied by a firm thud against his back and the Captain’s smiling presence at his elbow. Spock tried not to look overly pleased at his presence, although the truth of the matter was that he had given up hope of the Captain showing at this party just moments before.

“Captain.”

Kirk smiled at him.

“Spock.” He turned to Ensign Bates and smiled widely, and she returned it with cheeks still pink, the smile widening when he made a shooing gesture in her direction.

“Captain’s prerogative, Ensign.”

Spock did not understand the statement, but then Kirk circled in front of him and grabbed him by the shoulders, standing with him directly under the mistletoe. Ensign Bates left with a stammered “Yes, sir!” but Spock barely heard her. His heart, quite illogically, had begun to pound in his side, and he could smell the spicy scent of Kirk’s cologne. Kirk never wore cologne; it was illogical that he should note this, but it was more illogical that Spock, for all his resignation earlier, found himself wanting to run now that the person in front of him had changed.

Kirk just smiled softly at him, rubbing the curve of his shoulders with practiced fingers.

“Okay, Spock? I don’t want to make you participate in our foolish customs if you don’t want to.”

Spock nodded shortly, unable to find the words, and Kirk leaned forward, brushing cool lips…over his right cheek. They stayed that way for just a moment, Spock not daring to move lest he give away the fact that his breathing had quickened, and Kirk staying simply to give the tradition all it was due. The moment was still fleeting, and over all-too-soon.

When they separated, Kirk had a friendly smile on his face, and he patted Spock firmly on the back once more. The friendship he felt was obvious, flattering, even welcome in light of the morose thoughts of that morning, but it carried an unexpected consequence: upon feeling the presence of it, Spock’s heart continued to pound. He could not understand why he was having difficulty controlling so basic a function, but Kirk, thankfully—with normal human inattention to detail—did not notice, simply grabbing Spock lightly by the arm and dragging them back to the table he had occupied earlier.

Spock reflected, quite unintentionally, that he did not disprove of his first experience with mistletoe.

********

Spock’s second experience of mistletoe was somewhat less tolerable than the first, something that he believed could be attributed to the location and the fact that it was more unexpected than the first time. Conscious of his experience the night before, Spock had attended the remaining party for the Security division with his senses on constant alert. Wanting to avoid anything that could potentially result another awkward encounter with a member of the crew, he did not drink, not even when it became apparent that there was no mistletoe to be found.

The Captain was also absent, but at least this time Spock knew it was because he was on the eight to two am shift. He refused to admit that he lingered even after the party was over, illogically hoping that Kirk would attend as soon as his shift ended and they could play chess once again. Of course, this did not happen; humans, in Spock’s experience, needed sleep at this hour, and the Captain was no different.

Somewhat reluctantly, Spock finally left the then-empty rec room to go to the mess hall next door for the evening meal he had unintentionally skipped.

The mess hall, despite being the main cafeteria for the ship, contained only the occasional lone crew member, and each of them was focused very intently on their food. Spock wondered about it, momentarily, as he hovered uncertainly in the doorway, and then he got his answer.

The Captain—obviously deciding he needed food as well—chose that moment to enter the same doorway, and he bumped into Spock, sending them staggering forward a step. They stopped directly under a sprig of mistletoe that Spock had not seen.

The Captain blinked at him, clearly not expecting him, and Spock had just catalogued the presence of tired bags under blue eyes before Kirk looked up and spotted the foliage above them.

He laughed, but the sound was inexplicably strained. Exhaustion, no doubt.

“Okay, Mister Spock, turn the other cheek.”

His voice was filled with amusement that Spock didn’t understand, and he raised an eyebrow. He didn’t have much of a chance to comment, however, since Kirk darted in and kissed him lightly and perfunctorily on his left cheek. It was almost professional in its brevity, and although there was a hint of friendly affection transferred through the touch, Spock did not have time to anticipate the action or react with anything other than a quickly indrawn breath.

He was actually somewhat disappointed. Perhaps, then, the reaction to the first kiss was a fluke, an inconsistency, the result of the fact that—generally speaking—Spock did not receive kisses from many. It was logical, even, and something that should have made the situation easier in comparison to the possibility that had remained just outside the rational part of his mind.

Surprisingly, the explanation made him frown just slightly as he followed Kirk to a nearby replicator without comment, acting on some unspoken cue from the Captain. He did not even think about it when he sat down across from him, mirroring the way the Captain had approached him the evening before, and he considered the small risk worth it when Kirk grinned at him before biting into his sandwich.

“So, Mister Spock, what’s kept you up so late?”

Spock sipped his soup quietly before answering, noting Kirk’s shudder at what must have seemed an unappealing dish to him.

“I was monitoring the Security division’s Christmas party, as you are aware.”

Kirk snorted, chewing and swallowing another bite of what Spock assumed was chicken before explaining his amusement.

“You say ‘monitoring’ like the Security division itself is an experiment. Anything interesting happen?”

In Spock’s mind, yes. However, he doubted Kirk was asking if he’d discussed the upgrades to the shields or the training program for all new division members.

“If you define “interesting” to mean dangerous or unanticipated, no. However, I was somewhat puzzled by the lack of mistletoe in those festivities, especially since I have noticed its presence here.”

Kirk looked at him for a long moment before shrugging, the motion almost too-deliberate.

“Maybe someone didn’t want their guy kissing someone else.”

Kirk’s choice of pronoun confused him, but Spock admitted that—at least in a human mind—the explanation was sound.

“Nonetheless, it is…curious.”

The silence that followed the statement was broken by the unexpected lurch of a tired Doctor McCoy at their table, his weary form settling heavily next to Kirk. Despite Spock’s sometimes inexplicable conflict with the doctor, the way that he slumped in his chair caused the briefest spark of sympathy, or it did until the man waved a sprig of mistletoe in their direction.

Spock stiffened, expecting a comment about how Spock had met Kirk under the mistletoe twice now, but it did not come.

“What I want to know,” McCoy opened with in lieu of a greeting, “is where the devil it keeps coming from. It’s not a duplicate, or anything; it’s a fresh plant, but we haven’t been anywhere that would’ve had mistletoe for months. Someone must’ve been planning this for some time, which is weird, since the choice of location is pretty random.”

Spock raised an eyebrow as he continued to sip his soup. Kirk just stared at his old friend suspiciously.

“Random, Doctor?”

McCoy waved the sprig back and forth, wafting a clean, faint smell towards Spock that he immediately catalogued.

“Yeah. I found one in sickbay a while ago—and that’s just about the worst place to be kissing people if you ask me—and now this one above the door and one tied under the showers in the gym.”

Kirk looked amused at the near indignation in McCoy’s voice, and Spock admitted privately that he understood why.

“So…we have a mistletoe fairy?”

McCoy shrugged, and he flicked the snippet of plant at Kirk. It landed limply on his tray.

“Beats me. Considering how random it is, though, I’m surprised that you and Spock have been caught twice. I think we have something more like a matchmaking fairy, to be honest.”

Spock must have looked alarmed, because Kirk rushed to reply.

“That’s ridiculous—there were a dozen patches at the party in the Navigation division, and nobody could have known Spock and I would be in this mess hall around the same time.”

He looked at Spock for confirmation, and Spock nodded slowly.

“If we consider the surely limited quantity of the plant onboard, the possibility does seem minute.”

Kirk looked triumphant, gesturing with an open palm at Spock as if he had just solved an impossible riddle.

“See? I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”

McCoy looked doubtful.

“Maybe. Still, it’s making life damn awkward.”

Kirk tossed the mistletoe back at McCoy, and the doctor brushed it to the floor. There was something unbearably friendly about the actions, and Spock felt keenly out of place.

“Had to kiss Nurse Chapel, did you?”

McCoy scowled at the teasing, and Spock felt lighter.

“Yes, and the damn woman won’t let me forget it.”

 _Perhaps she does not wish you to._ The words flickered across Spock’s mind, but he did not say them. He hardly had the background necessary to advise anyone in romance, but the answer seemed obvious to him.

By the way Kirk looked at McCoy in exasperated amusement, it was clear the answer was just as apparent to him. Spock waited, but he said nothing either, and soon talk began about what else McCoy had been annoyed by that day.

Spock simply sipped his soup, and he tried not to be distracted by the glaring presence of mistletoe at their feet.

********

Christmas Eve was, to Spock’s knowledge, a very important aspect of the winter holidays, and it was therefore no surprise that the festivities truly began that day. His brief research into the subject some years ago had yielded evidence that the day was almost as important as Christmas itself, and—although he could not fathom _why_ —he had been looking forward to observing the differences and comparing the small discrepancies with what his logical mind had decided the holiday must be. That, however, had been before Kirk had informed him of circumstances he had not been aware of before.

Spock had volunteered to chaperone four of the five Christmas parties on _Enterprise_ ; for obvious reasons, he had not considered it appropriate or wise to be present at the celebration for the Communication Division, and he had planned his holidays around any such event. However, he had not anticipated Nyota to resume dating so quickly, much less dating the Chief Engineer. The Chief Engineer, who would no doubt be present at the party for the Engineering Division that Spock was monitoring that evening, possibly with Nyota alongside him.

For some illogical reason, the day had become somewhat less enjoyable for him. Spock imagined the cause for the drop in productivity that followed was human, and the knowledge somehow made the situation even worse. The fourth time Kirk had asked the same question on the bridge and received no answer from his normally proficient officer, he had finally leaned close under the guise of checking Spock’s findings and asked what was wrong.

“Nothing, Captain,” was the inevitable reply, and Kirk nodded although he did not seem to believe it. He patted him on the back then, a drawn-out and comforting motion before he went on his way. Nyota looked at him with concern, the result of their friendship from before, but Spock did not meet her eyes; eventually, she looked away, clearly discouraged.

He listed it, in his mind, as just another reason that he was not a suitable partner.

It was that list that followed him for the rest of the day, causing him to make error after error in otherwise basic calculations. When Spock asked to be dismissed, citing un-Vulcan fatigue as the cause, Kirk let him go without comment although his gaze trailed after him as he went. When he reached his quarters, however, Spock did not sleep; he mediated, long into the evening, hoping that the extra clarity would make the experience of that evening somehow more bearable.

He suspected it wouldn’t, and that was why he hesitated outside the doorway of the rec room. The party was already active, people dancing and engaging one another in conversation with cheer, and music filled the room and spilled over into the hallway. Spock knew that his attendance was overdue, but he still did not enter.

When he felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder, he stiffened reflexively. There was only one person who touched him so freely.

“Hey. Not going in?”

Spock shook his head.

“I am. I am chaperoning.”

Clarity crossed Kirk’s face, and the hand on his shoulder was removed.

“And that’s why you’re standing here looking like you want to die.”

Spock looked away from knowing blue eyes, pretending the wall nearby was inexplicably fascinating.

“I am uncertain as to what you refer to, Captain.”

He heard Kirk sigh.

“Uh-huh. Well, since I’m here anyway, why don’t you take the night off? I can be a chaperone; maybe not a great one, but good enough.”

Spock looked back at him, and the kindness in his gaze nearly floored him. Impossible; no one ever looked at _him_ like that.

“Captain—”

“Now, no objections, Mister Spock. You weren’t feeling well earlier, right? I do want to keep my officers healthy.”

Kirk’s voice was gentle, and the ruse was clearly just that.

“I see. Under the circumstances, I have no choice but to agree.”

Kirk thumped him once on the back, and Spock smelled that same cologne as before. He was starting to associate the scent, rather illogically, with mistletoe. His heart, heavy as his mood, lightened and began to thud erratically. Perhaps it had not been a fluke after all.

“There you go. Get some rest, Mister Spock.”

“Yes, Captain.” Spock swallowed, and he hesitated over his next words. “Thank you.”

Kirk smiled and waved at him. The gesture said that it was no hardship, that he was just being a friend and a good captain, but Spock took it as the kindness it was. Kirk had changed his plans, whatever they may have been, for him.

Although Spock would hardly say that the evening was pleasant, it was bearable, knowing that he had a friend like Kirk.

********

Spock spent the better part of Christmas morning trying to come up with a way to repay Kirk properly for what still seemed to be an unnecessary gesture, even between friends. His attempts—joining him for breakfast, accepting his jokes, and agreeing to endeavor to “lighten up”—all seemed inadequate to him, and Spock felt it was truly necessary that he say, in some way, that the kindness had been appreciated, and understood.

In the end, it took only Spock volunteering to repair the wiring in a damaged Jefferies tube for Kirk to smile at him, all but lighting up inside. Spock didn’t understand it, but when Kirk joined him in the turbolift, obviously offering to help him with a task that could have otherwise taken until well into the next morning, he knew that his goal had somehow been achieved.

As soon as the doors closed, Kirk leaned in close to him. Spock stiffened, not at the proximity, but at the scent of cologne that filled the air around him.

“That was really nice of you, Spock.”

Kirk didn’t sound the slightest bit surprised, either, and Spock took note of Kirk’s inexplicably high opinion of him once again.

“The holiday means something more to humans, Captain.” The engineer who would normally have been in charge had also looked exhausted beyond the normal levels associated with workplace fatigue, and Spock had recalled that he had two children waiting for a Christmas call from him.

“Still. You’re really a nice guy, aren’t you?”

Spock swallowed, flattered beyond what was reasonable. It wasn’t even a compliment in the classic sense, but still, Spock felt his body temperature increase like it had when he was fifteen and had been described as “truly logical” by one of his teachers.

“I have never been accused of being ‘nice.’”

“That’s a shame.”

The doors opened on C deck, and Spock walked towards the Jefferies tube under observation. A quick glance inside showed that some wires were loose and others were broken, and Spock mentally catalogued all the repairs necessary before pushing himself inside the vertical opening.

The faint smell caught his attention instantly.

“Captain, wait—”

Kirk had already pushed himself inside, stopping just above the middle rung on the staircase. The mistletoe hit his hair and fell, harmlessly, to the ground below. Spock couldn’t believe it, and he stared at the plant suspiciously. Matchmaker, indeed; if Spock had not had a high opinion of Kirk and their somewhat recent friendship, he would have been offended.

Kirk cleared his throat.

“Does that count?”

Spock could have said “no.” It was logical, even, as there were no other crew members nearby to observe if they did not acknowledge the tradition. It could have gone unacknowledged, and no one would have been any the wiser, and what’s more, Spock’s mind would not have had another occurrence of those oh-so-friendly kisses to puzzle over late into the night.

“I believe so, Captain.”

“Alright, lean forward. I’ve gotta say, Spock, I’m running out of innocent places to kiss.”

Kirk sounded amused as he pushed himself up another rung before leaning over and kissing Spock soundly on the forehead. Spock felt his eyes flicker closed, just briefly, and he gladly took note of the fact that this kiss lingered two hundred and ten percent longer than any of the others.

Kirk pulled back with a smile, and Spock breathed the cologne that his captain was inexplicably wearing during a normal shift.

“Shall we?”

Spock hesitated, and then he stopped Kirk when he reached for the nearest wiring.

“A moment, Captain.”

Kirk waited, face mildly interested, and his eyes widened when Spock leaned forward and up to press a gentle kiss to his forehead, followed by one on each cheek. They were barely there, and brief, but Kirk stared at him incredulously when he pulled away.

“What was that for?”

He sounded surprised but not displeased, and Spock reached for the wiring above his head.

“I believe you mentioned that mistletoe required the participants to share a kiss.”

Kirk nodded slowly, and Spock continued.

“I have concluded that it is a failure to honor this tradition that has resulted in numerous occasions of the two of us “meeting under the mistletoe.””

Kirk’s lips began to twitch.

“You mean like a Christmas jinx?”

It took Spock a moment to translate the question into something he could understand, and then he nodded.

“Essentially. I imagine the occurrences will stop now.”

Kirk sighed and shook his head before reaching for the wiring nearest him.

“Well, I hope you’re right, Mister Spock.”

Spock did not say that hopes were illogical, nor did he say that he illogically hoped his theory was wrong.

********

The rewiring took three hours and twenty-three minutes, and despite Spock’s great Vulcan stamina, he felt the strain of remaining in cramped quarters and in a poor posture for such a length of time. As a result, when the Captain exited the portal and immediately collapsed backwards, he was more openly sympathetic than he normally allowed himself to be.

He landed next to Kirk’s crumbled form on light feet, and the only sign that the Captain was not seriously injured was the groan that answered his concerned “Captain?”

“Jesus, Spock. Remind me again why I decided this would be a good idea?”

Spock considered him where he lay in a heap on the floor, seemingly perfectly content to remain there for the time being.

“You did not want me to, as you said, ‘spend the entire day neck-deep in poorly-labeled wiring.’”

Kirk nodded, wincing as he rubbed one elbow.

“Right. Ouch. Help me up?”

Spock did so, not bothering to make the attempt to avoid his bare hand as he normally would have, instead choosing to strengthen his shields. Despite his efforts, a flash of affection drifted over from Kirk’s skin before Spock released him.

“What are your plans for the rest of the evening, Spock?” Kirk asked the question while he stretched, pressing his hands to his lower back and curving his spine. Spock heard a pop, and Kirk groaned once more before Spock answered.

“I intend to return to the bridge.”

Kirk wagged a tired finger at him.

“No, no. You get holiday time just like everyone else.”

“Then I intend to meditate.” He had much to think about, thanks in no small part to the man beside him.

“On Christmas?”

“Yes.”

“Well, okay. I’ll walk you back, then.”

Spock began to move forward slowly, and his caution seemed justified when Kirk moved after him, hobbling.

“Are you certain you should be moving at this moment in time?”

“Not really, but Bones always said motion is good for sore muscles.” Another groan. “Doesn’t feel like it is right now, though.”

Spock took a moment to consider his options, and then he extended one arm.

“Allow me, Captain.”

The Captain nodded, and Spock wrapped his arm around Kirk’s waist, pulling one arm across his shoulders. They began to move at a slower pace than before, and Kirk leaned heavily against him as he worked cramped legs.

“You really are a nice guy, Spock. An absolute prince.”

The statement was a blissful sigh, and Spock corrected him.

“Captain, the concept of royalty to Vulcans—”

Kirk shook his head, and Spock felt the soft brush of hair against his cheek.

“No, what I meant is you’re a good person. Unique. You deserve to be happy.”

His last statement was somber, unexpectedly so. Spock swallowed, unable to believe that he could be read so easily.

“I do not understand.”

Kirk’s hand patted the shoulder it rested upon.

“You don’t have to give up. There are others, other people out there…besides Uhura.”

Silence fell around them as they waited for the turbolift, and Spock was certain Kirk did not expect an answer to the personal statement.

Spock felt he deserved one anyway, and when the doors closed softly behind them, he answered the question that Kirk would never ask.

“I was unable to fulfill her emotional needs, Captain.” The thought of it still stung, but less now; Spock was beginning to understand that as much as he had cared for her, the source of his pain was not solely about Nyota.

“I doubt this will change, regardless of who I attempt to have a relationship with in the future.”

Not acceptable by Vulcan standards and not wanted by humans; even the Captain must understand that. Kirk’s reaction, however, was merely to tighten his clasp across his shoulder.

“Oh, I think it already has.” The enigmatic statement was followed by silence as they walked the next dozen or so paces, stopping right outside Spock’s door before Kirk released him.

“Right here, Mister Spock; I can make it the rest of the way.”

Spock released him, somewhat reluctantly, but when Kirk did not immediately fall, he considered his duty completed.

“Very well. Goodnight, Captain.”

Spock turned to enter his quarters, not waiting for the Captain’s response, and he nearly ran into his door. He took one step backwards and tried again, only to be met with the same result.

“Computer, open.”

There was a chiming noise of a command accepted, but still the doors did not open. Spock frowned.

“Something the matter, Mister Spock?”

“The door appears to be locked.”

Kirk came up alongside him, nudging him gently to the side.

“Here, let me see.”

Kirk entered his Captain’s code with hurried and practiced strokes, and was met with the same response. Kirk, however, just pulled the panel off the door lock, fiddling with the exposed wires with an ease that should have made Spock uncomfortable.

“Yep. Jammed. Just gimme a second…”

Kirk looked up, then; Spock was uncertain why, but when Kirk laughed, Spock looked up as well.

Mistletoe.

Kirk shook his head, seemingly amused beyond what his tired mind could contain.

“Well, so much for your theory. Mister Spock, I’m starting to think we’ll be plagued by this plant until we do this thing properly.”

Spock could admit, privately, that there was something amusing about the continued presence of the Terran plant.

“That assumption would appear to be valid.”

Kirk set the removed panel gently on the floor before he propped himself against the wall.

“Okay. Bend down?”

Spock did so, and they bumped noses when Kirk leaned up. The Captain laughed, and Spock smiled just slightly as he leaned down again. He closed his eyes, expecting a gentle brushing of lips with his skin buzzing with transferred amusement and affection. He expected it to be brief and friendly, a slight concession to the holidays that was nevertheless unwanted.

The kiss was none of those things. It was long and slow, Kirk’s mouth hungry as he coaxed Spock to return what was not a friendly kiss, and broad hands cupped his cheeks when he opened his mouth. A gentle tongue explored the crevices of his mouth, exhibiting a thuroughness that Spock never would have expected and that he returned gladly. He had not anticipated…but perhaps that was the problem.

Spock had not thought that Kirk had meant someone in particular when he had offered up the promise of “other people.”

When Kirk pulled away, his eyes were dark. Spock’s skin did indeed tingle under his continued touch, but it was not just from affection this time, but satisfaction and lust and happiness. Kirk felt that way, merely from kissing _him_.

Spock wanted to say something—“thank you,” perhaps—but as if on cue, the door opened. Kirk didn’t seem surprised, and he released his face with a dragging touch before turning and carefully replacing the panel.

Spock said nothing, and when Kirk turned, he had a smile on his face.

“Well, let’s see if that did it, all right?”

Spock nodded, and Kirk stepped out of the doorway.

“Oh, and one last thing: merry Christmas, Spock.”

Spock swallowed.

“As you say, Captain.”

Kirk shook his head, a slight smile playing over his lips as he walked back to his own quarters, not glancing once over his shoulder as he did so. Spock watched him go for an instant, and then he entered his quarters, letting out a breath as the door silently closed.

It was then that he noticed the data padd sitting conspicuously on his desk, and the small bundle of mistletoe gently atop it. Spock, curious, picked up both, noticing that there were exactly four sprigs of mistletoe and that the data padd lit up with a message almost as soon as he touched it. He opened the message, read it quickly, and then—to himself—he smiled.

He had found the “matchmaking fairy.”

_You’re supposed to say “Merry Christmas,” Spock. Merry Christmas!_

_Jim_

_P.S. Don’t use them all in one place._

Perhaps he did not need to meditate after all.

********

End


End file.
